


Onset of Peril

by Valdyr



Series: The Sinda & the Jotunn [6]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Betrayal, Collar of Mages, Dragon!Loki, F/M, M/M, Mind Control, Palantír(i), Portals, Suicide, battles, mad!Odin, more might be added if I forgot something just now, wraiths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 23:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8422234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valdyr/pseuds/Valdyr
Summary: After he wakes, Loki has little time to mourn the loss of his unborn child as the events of The Two Towers take their course. Especially since Odin has found a way to Middle-Earth.





	1. One-eyed far sight

**Author's Note:**

> So sorry for the wait, but I barely get to write at all now that uni has started again. Will try to fit everything, though.

He hated and he dreaded this. All around him there were greatness and glamour and his metal-enforced boots sounded outright menacing as they clanged on the golden floor with each and every step of his. He wanted to slow, to delay the inevitable, but that would be nothing but cowardly. So he strode right ahead until he reached the foot of the throne. Upon it, his king leaned down heavily on one armrest, his golden spear a crutch to him rather than a weapon. And his one seeing eye narrowed at him in suspicion of what he was about to say.

“Your grace, it evades us still. We just can't find the portal. Not like this. There is simply too much space.”

“Why do you keep disappointing me? Why, Tyr? I might remember that jolt coming through me like it was yesterday... But it wasn't. Not yesterday nor anywhere near it. Can you even tell how long it has been?”

“Uhm... about-”

“Too LONG! The collar is broken. Loki roams free! But even though my collar warned, you still haven't found the way to my escaped prisoner! He has his magic, Tyr. He could do anything. A vengeful queen capable of horrendous feats. He could be preparing an attack as we speak! How can you risk your kingdom so?!”

“Your, I am trying! With all the forces you have granted me, but we are too few! This portal could be anywhere! At any height in the air or in the depth of the ocean, maybe in a cave or maybe nowhere unless summoned by some magic! It might be not below at all, the dragon could have flown underneath to hide its true position! And we can't even see what we are looking for. Or hear or sense it. We cannot perceive the portal. We few won't find it unless luck has us step right into it! I need more men!”

“No. Someone would notice. Thor, Frigga or even a Jotunn scryer. We can't risk drawing any attention to it. If it spread that Loki managed to break his bonds and free himself... There would be panic. Even rebellion. Just find it already! Dismissed.”

With a quiet mumble of “Yes, your Grace” Tyr left, suppressing his shudders as he heard the king start to frantically mutter to himself behind him. Their king's mind was not in a good state right then. It hadn't been for a long time. But the worries it concerned itself with were real. Because what Odin worried about so was how Loki had gotten out of the collar. Odin was certain that such could not have been possible without help and no-one where he had gone knew about the collar.

Well, he had told Thranduil about what it could do and where it was from, how he had won it, but not in any syllable how it could be reopened. Beside Gungnir. Someone had told them. But who even knew? Only he knew since he had changed it. But who could have found out? Only a great sorcerer could have accomplished that. Freya? Frigga? He knew of few great sorcerers. After all, it was not exactly a popular craft. But of one thing he was certain: Someone had told Loki how to free himself. Someone had aided an enemy of Asgard.

There was a traitor in Yggdrasil. Traitors and enemies everywhere. He really was not that well off anymore, should Loki truly attack. The dwarves were no warriors and while the light elves were subjugated, they wouldn't fight for him, either. He had only Vanaheim and Asgard itself to rely on. But Loki, now that he was free, could turn once more become a dragon and this time he could call on Jotunheim for help. An ice dragon leading an army of frost giants... That would be disastrous. And they had the casket.

For he knew that veil. The cold storms in the higher atmosphere that shielded Jotunheim against the Bifrost. That was the casket's work. The reason he had needed to ask for another entrance. He reason he had been forced to sacrifice one of his eyes. Only the secret pathways allowed travelling between into Jotunheim now. However the portal that Mimir had told him about, the one between Midgard and Jotunheim was blocked now. Since the war. So Asgard had no chance at reclaiming the casket. Not with the greatest army. Not while the casket protected Jotunheim.

There would be no contact at all, unless Loki knew a way to sneak into Jotunheim and rallied their army against him. Because they surely owed him after the return of the casket. It could have come only from him. That much Odin knew. He just didn't know how Loki could have given them the casket with his magic bound. If he had seen a chance, he would never have let Loki go there. But he had seen none. There had been none. Not unless the collar had been sabotaged. He reconsidered his theory about a traitor in Asgard. It was not a theory to him anymore.

But who? His thought unwittingly led him back to Frigga. She was so cold to him these days. There was something lofty about her, too. Sometimes she just looked at him like she knew that something would happen. Often that made her sad or happy, depending on whether she liked it or not. These days, though... She seemed almost righteous. What she had presumably foreseen was not something that made her happy, but it was something that she wanted. Strange. He would ask, but she was so distant. Both of them were. Frigga and Thor both.

Something had changed with Loki's return. Something grave. Well, they both for some reason still loved them. He dearly hoped for them that they had nothing to to with his escape from the collar. But they didn't seem to know about it. They certainly hadn't reacted when its hold had been broken. Most likely they just disagreed with his verdict, but knew that they had no say in that, so they sulked in silence and gave him the cold shoulder. Like that would change his mind. He didn't care that they avoided him. They were weak. Prone to love. And that love was wasted on Loki of all people.

Well, if they wanted to give their hearts away, he couldn't save them. All he could do for them and the peace they kept among the realms was to save them from their hearts and quell all rebellion before they betrayed him. They could not side with Loki or he would have to kill them all. But even if he found the portal, he couldn't send the army. Everyone would know. Thor would protest and weaken the corps' morale. And if then Jotunheim found out that Asgard's might was away, they would invade and possibly even win. No, he couldn't send the army.

That would likely fail, anyway. Loki would see them coming and if he did, he could retake his dragon shape and wipe them from the face of the earth. What he needed was a stealth attack. A slight, but powerful assassin. Or two.

 

-

 

Every day he had Tyr report to him and every day the report was the same. They had once more and again found nothing. But the day came that something changed. Not Tyr's report, that was just the same. No, others came back with a report. And that one was of an entirely different nature. Hugin and Munin returned to him and crowed their success. They had slipped into Helheim, not past Garm but into the different portals before him. That was extremely risky as no-one could know what awaited them on the other side and many undiscovered realms bore undiscovered dangers, but he was desperate.

So he had sent them anyway and they had finally returned with good news. They had found a portal behind which magic lived the like of which they had felt before. They had found a realm bearing the exact same corruptingly foul magic that had run through Loki like the cobweb of a greedy spider. Especially when Loki had been in his dragon shape. He might have used the magic of that realm to create that form. And that meant that this would also be the realm that he had returned to, that he lived in now.

They had found a way around the evasive portal that might or might not be somewhere on Asgard's other side. So even if they had not found Loki... yet, they had found the right planet. Now he could go for Loki. Well, not he himself. But he could finally send his best to put down the enemy that inspired rebellion in his realm for good.

So he passed Tyr uncaring of the failed pursuer and strode straight towards the stables. He ignored everyone and sensing his dark determination, all others took care not to approach him, either. He reached and crossed the stables and found the kennel. Without ado he opened it and Geri and Freki jumped free, howling in joy and hunger. The horses went wild in fear, but they were safe in their box stalls. He had only one goal. So he leant down to his killers and told them to follow the ravens, to avoid Garm and enter the new realm. He told the to follow the raven's far sight and find Loki. He told them to sneak up on him and devour him whole.

Only a few hours later, the Garm's furious howls could be heard across Helheim, as his former kin passed right in front of him from one portal into the next, the ravens leading the way. And the land they entered was a gruesome one. Only their Hellish lounges could save them from choking on the charred air while not too far away a mighty volcano spurted its stinking black loads into the sky. But the ravens flew ahead and the flew high. They saw behind a curved mountain chain meadows and forests in the distance.

The wolves beneath, though, did not remain alone was long. The foul land was crawling with beast and soon they ran into a troll. The b east towered over them and its hide was thick and its arms strong as it attacked them. The wolves hardly cared for it. Geri opened his big mouth wide and snapped it shut again around one of the troll's arms. His teeth did not break the stone-like skin. But Helheim's magic in his blood corroded away the skin inside its mouth as the troll howled in shocked pain an then the wolf just bit down and swallowed the limb, muscle, tendons and bones. Together the wolves devoured the troll and moved on without a look back.

They had a mage to kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beforehand any questions on the new instalment?


	2. Reunion of Royalty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I should probably have mentioned the time-thing last chapter to make it clear, but better late than never: This is set almost directly after The greatest Loss, last chapter spanned from the middle of A home to come home to until now.)
> 
> Now this chapter went a little (a lot) different from my original plan... But I hope you like it anyway!

The wailing just wouldn't drop off.

So Nidhogg begrudgingly let himself be talked into checking it out. What could possibly warrant this? Here? Almost everyone was already dead, so what could possibly go wrong? Especially at the gate, while all of Loki's children in Helheim were far from it. So what the Hel was Garm's problem? He lifted himself off the ground with a groan and heaved himself over, cracking up the soil with a heavy landing to find Garm straining against his chain, barking and howling at nothing what so ever. Truly, the circle was empty. Momentarily.

Nidhogg was about to leave again with a huff of annoyance, when a creature he had only heard about burst forth from the portal he knew led to Asgard. It skidded to a sudden stop in front of the abruptly silenced helhound, then frantically tossed its head around, sniffing the air in long drags that caught more than scent. And then it stilled, for but a moment, and it jumped to the side and sped straight into another portal in a flash of dark grey.

This was indeed not to be ignored and he suddenly dreaded what had caused the helhound's fury. Something of Asgard that was being chased by this bestial warrior. But where did they go? Nidhogg was not allowed to leave Helheim, not before Ragnarok. But he managed to use his form to remain standing behind the gate as he wound his neck through it and pushed his head through the same portal they had disappeared through.

The land he found on the other side seemed utterly unfamiliar to him. It was ghastly and not unlike Helheim itself barren. A smoking wasteland. What did they want with this? It smelt just foul. And it seemed to speak to his lower urges. It agitated him, made him aggressive. Helheim's atmosphere corroded, but this... This very place seemed to taint. Its nature was corruption and he wanted nothing but to pull back. But then he realised that it was actually familiar. Not the land, but the magic. It reminded him of Smaug. It was even stronger in the blood of the dragonlings (that were conceived while Loki bore the Ring). It was – in traces – even in Loki.

But never before Loki had supposedly died and returned to them as a dragon. This place... that was the world Loki had landed on after his fall. And now something Asgardian had found it. Something that Garm had temporarily gone mad over. That could not have been anything but bad.

  


Deeply concerned, he returned to Hel, who was standing at the crib with a gentle smile on her face, warming his heart from the cold shudders that had taken it over at his recent finding. She was so happy these days. He looked so see what in specific she was smiling about and found Daudr wrapped into the wings of Blodugrond, the breathless dragonling with scales like rubies, who had coiled around the infant. Almost like they were snuggling. The others were around, too, but none with their inclinations towards fire and frost had such a close connection to the dead as Blodugrond.

The golden-eyed dragon loved their little sister most of all their rogue little pack. But not as much as Hel, for there was no match for her motherly love anywhere else on all of Helheim. But she was a daughter, too. And she listened to his report with worry and wonder. What she could do about it was another story. Her shrine was designed to contact her and receive a response, not for her to contact it and even then she couldn't expect anyone to happen to come by it. They did not expect news from her. Not anymore.

But she couldn't send any messenger, either. The creatures of Helheim were not allowed to leave and the dragonlings, although they had grown, were still far too young to send them on such a dangerous mission into the unknown. ...She could project a spirit, of course. That tended to freak people out and she was not sure how Loki would react, but it was the only way for her. So she probably should. Loki had to be warned. But then a clash ripped her out of her thoughts and she looked up to see Hyrrandlat dropping from a cracked wall he had crashed into from the force of Marrhamr's whipping tail. They were fighting. For practise, not for real, but fighting dragons always meant collateral damage.

Fire and ice mingled in their little battle as the amber and the azure dragonling bit and hacked at each other's scales brutally. Nidhogg could not approve of this, they might actually harm each other, so he growled in warning, but it fell on deaf ears. Well, they did look up for a moment, but then they turned away again to face Myrkdyr, the obsidian dragonling lounging and watching from the windowsill. He just huffed, so his siblings went right back to their fight.

Nidhogg made a move to emphasise his command, but Myrkdyr hissed at him, calling for the attention of all his scaled siblings, which instantly joined in, ready to square off against the much larger death dragon. Even Blodugrond lifted his head from the crib. And even Gullormr uncoiled on his favourite sleeping place to show his solidarity with the other dragonlings, causing said sleeping place to shake with laughter. Nidhogg glared at the dead dragon carrying the Gold-Snake on his snout, but Smaug was unperturbed.

After occasional visits and run-ins, Myrkdyr had decided that their biological father could be tolerated in their vicinity. Nidhogg had been less than thrilled, of course. Just as he was now. But he had learnt his lesson. The dragonlings were tiny compared to him, but they were also many compared to him and the were damn quick, combined with an agility he wasn't sure he'd ever had to begin with.

And even if he could catch and contain one or even two, in one case even three at a time, they were too many for him, going for his eyes or prying his scales off his skin to with their deft, but strong little bodies. And nothing hurt like a dragon getting literally under his skin. One time when Myrkdyr's pack had been especially furious at him, their fearless leader had wormed his under under a a scale, broken the soft skin underneath and actually wriggled inside. Like some terrible parasite.

Nidhogg, the great death dragon and bestial king of Helheim, had had nightmares about a dragonling not even a few head's taller than horse if he stood on the ground. And that was how he had come to be laughed at by Smaug, despite the damage to his dead body. He had been overthrown by babies. Admittedly, they were still Loki's brood, so perhaps he shouldn't have expected anything less from them. And therefore he just grumbled and ignored it, while Gullormr bat his tail against Smaug's brow to get him to stop shaking. After all, Gullormr had been trying to sleep.

The dead firedrake calmed himself to a grin and just lost himself in gazing at the beautiful, bright golden body of his son. Every day the boy grew a bit more. Every day that living hoard of golden scales expanded. And he loved it. He knew to respect Myrkdyr and treat the others well, too, or he might lose his privileges. But his love was strongest for Gullormr. If he let his imagination run free, he could almost see his child fully grown, putting even the rumoured city of gold to shame.

This had to be the first time all his history that Smaug 'the Golden' loved a living being most of all. Not even the treasure of Erebor could compare...

  


Hel had watched the stand-off between her lover and her foster children with care, but now she could only feel joy again. The Tyrannical's eyes glazed over with unlimited adoration for his child, the two fighting had ceased to rest wrapped up in each other to sleep off the exhaustion, Blodugrond kept Daudr warm and Myrkdyr had come to offer his nobly bent neck for her to caress. They all lived without worries or concern, without any enemies knocking on the door. She was so happy for them.

But her father did not have such luck. He was being pursued. He had to be warned. So she asked Myrkdyr to keep an eye on everyone and went to her throne to gather and channel her energy, while Nidhogg in recognition of her purpose went out to find someone they could trust to take a message to Loki and recite it exactly, when they projected his spirit into the world of the living.

  


-

  


Loki did not sleep well. Or at all. He could feel Thranduil's distress and it pained him, driving him to do something about it. But what was he supposed to do? Thranduil's distress was born from being torn between wanting to keep Loki with him in the safety of his well-guarded halls and wanting to send his best to protect his son. Loki had told him everything and while the death of a human was no great surprise, Gandalf's loss had been a shock.

And Thranduil was scared. His son, his only living child, was chasing a hoard of – supposedly – orcs with only a human and a dwarf for support. And they were going for the white wizard, who had betrayed them. Admittedly, he had never been overfond of wizards. But now the greatest of them was so terrified that he had switched sides. And thus now they had two Maiar to fight. He could not afford to keep Loki with him. He could give him some days to recover, a week or two perhaps, but then they all needed their greatest hope back in action.

He was just so so scared that he would tell Loki goodbye for the last time. He tried to see a bright side in all this, just to keep himself sane, but it was not easy. Admittedly, Loki had survived a confrontation with a balrog and few creatures were as powerful as those ancient evils. But the enemy knew how great a danger Loki was. He knew that he would have to send his best to get Loki. And he had nine ringwraiths at his disposal.

So the driving out of the necromancer clearly hadn't worked too well. He wondered what might have become of Dol Guldur. Was it empty now as it should be? Or did Sauron have it manned with beasts again? They should check that. But tomorrow. He made to go to bed, where Loki already was, curled tightly into himself to block out the horrible world, but something stopped him. It was mostly just a bad feeling. But then Loki stirred and sat up looking around with a frown. This wasn't just a bad feeling of Thranduil's.

Suddenly there was a scream and yelling ensued. His people were up in arms, the guards running around to meet some enemy. But going by the sounds, the commotion was not at any gate. It was inside the halls. The enemy was already inside. They both jumped, Thranduil grabbing a sword, and they, too, hurried out of their chambers to see what was up, following the sounds to the chaos that produced them. And what they found there...

Right in a hallway in Thranduil's kingdom, that should be warded against these horrid appearances, there was translucent and exuding an aura of terror and decay: a wraith. The guards dared not near it and Thranduil instantly pushed his still weakened wife behind himself to shield Loki with his body. It was indeed a wraith. Not dressed as a black rider, but dead for sure. And as soon as it spotted Loki, it moved towards him. Thranduil panicked for a moment, but he had to act. And instinct told him what to do.

He combined his inherent light and what he knew of active magic and through his sword like a conductor he shot a beam of bright light. Right through the wraith's head. It stumbled back as if disoriented, but it wasn't hurt. How could it be? But now that it had been attacked, it seemed to consider. Next it held up its barely visible hands as if to placate them and emitted sounds. But they were far too dim and garbled to understand and the wraith noticed that, too.

It tried a second time, but Thranduil was wary. Maybe it wanted to communicate, but what wraith did that? It seemed far more likely that the wraith was trying to voice some kind of enchantment. But the magical wards over his halls pressed down in it and extinguished at least that option. Yet that a wraith was there at all was a horrendous breach. It shouldn't be possible. That thing should never have gotten through the outer walls!

He was terrified of what this breach in security meant for them and asked Loki if he by any chance knew how this could be. But that had the wraith refocussing on Loki and it made another step towards him, hurriedly gibbering something. Thranduil raised his sword in threat, letting it glow to warn the wraith not to near by a single step more. He had almost lost Loki too recently to let that thing even closer than it already was. And it understood the message.

And then it was thinking again and a moment later, it turned around walked away. The guards on its other side back away in confusion and dread, but they couldn't just let it go, now could they? They had to know what it planned. So they went after it, tensions rising as the wraith strode through their halls. Thranduil was desperately thinking about what this could mean, what its purpose could be. But as time ticked by and kept staring at the moving wraith, he slowly but surely saw something even worse:

The wraith was becoming more. Its shape became more visible, more complete, and its aura expanded. It led them somewhere where it was stronger. It was leading them into a trap!

Abruptly he stood and held Loki back, too, racking his brains for where they were going and why the wraith would be stronger there. He looked to Loki, who had noticed it, too, as the wraith noticed their stopping and turned back around, unwittingly showing his almost complete skull-face to them. They stood stock-still in the shock of the realisation and the wraith clearly didn't like that. It moved back in their direction. And this time that Thranduil shot light at it, the wraith was only briefly jolted back, but hardly deterred.

And it tried to speak. They didn't understand it, but what used to resemble a broken whirring was almost a voice now. Almost strong enough. They had to be close. And that was when Loki made the connection.

“The shrine...!”

“What?!”

“The shrine, spring, Hel's shrine! It's inside the gates and a direct link to the Dead! That's how it got in here and the closer we get, the better the connection and the stronger the wraith!”

Said wraith did even have much of a reaction at that, it only made a come-hither gesture, like they would get even nearer. The shrine resisted their wards. It had been meant for Hel, but now it looked like opening that door had let in more than they had bargained for. A connection to Helheim, of course. A link to exactly the place where the wraiths came from. And their weapons failed them, for they were designed to face the living, not these hellish makes of magic. Thranduil barely needed half a second to think.

“Destroy the shrine. Break the link, cast it out, destroy the shrine NOW!”

The wraith seemed actually surprised by this. Had it not expected them to fight back? Did it really think it had already won? But his guards jumped into action at once, running for the shrine to destroy it and protect their home from the works of the Necromancer. And that had the wraith panicking. At first it was torn, going for Loki and shouting at him unintelligibly, but then it ran after the guards, trying to keep the stop them from severing the connection. And once they reached it, two guards screamed at the wraith's touch, gripping their shoulders to haul them away.

But they were enough. A third skipped past the two affected and bolts shot out of the shrine as the guard's halberd crashed through it, breaking the connection. A blink of an eye later, the wraith screeched and before their eyes evaporated as the warding spells extinguished its presence.

They took a couple deep breaths and the two guards that had been touched were carried to the healers to fight any infections of foulness. And Thranduil and Loki both knew their next step. They could get some rest for the remainder of the night, but in the morning, they had to got for Dol Guldur, the closest possible base of their enemy. This had not been one of the Nine...

So what more waited, summoned and ready, for its turn to befall their home?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I didn't tag everyone, but as I said, this developed differently than expected. But I think it worked out.
> 
> Opinions?
> 
> (And what do you think who Nidhogg saw chasing after the wolves?)


	3. The Hill of Sorcery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait, but I had a serious moral debate about something I originally meant to put in this chapter. Needless to say, it's something bad, horrible even, but I decided to postpone it.

The difference was shocking. Within the borders of the Woodland Realm, the forest was slightly sickened, but green remained. Beyond them, the decay had already progressed so far that all leaves were a yellowish brown and slick with some sort of secretion or mucus. Even the ferns were laid on the ground, clinging to the yellowed moss through the putrefactive liquid. The king and queen shuddered to behold the flora neighbouring their garden trees.

  
If this was all the influence of Dol Guldur, it had to be just as rotten as it used to be under the rule of the Necromancer. In fact they almost had to wonder how their own greens had kept their colours for this long. But that did not remain a mystery for all too long. As soon as Thranduil stepped over the border and into the foulness, with only Loki by his side and not a single guard, so Loki had insisted, there was a tiny bit of change.

  
Barely there, hardly perceptible, but present still. The moment Thranduil touched a half-dead tree, a hue of life returned to it. As they went, though, it faded into nothing once more. The magic of the elves, channelled through Tuilya, kept their piece of the woods intact, but the foulness was persistent all around them. And the further they got on their way south through the forest, the worse it became and the thicker the webs. The trees were greyed there and covered in slick white. The Elvenking had never seen something like this before. And it broke his heart.

  
His poor forest! There was no sound of any animal here. Not of any bird, rodent or ungulate. Nothing. No until they heard the spiders. The only creatures that flourished here. He was so abruptly and intensely enraged that Loki had to hold him back from running right at them and slashing away at their armoured bodies until nothing breathing remained standing. But it would be for nought. There were far too many of them to kill all individually.

  
Yet their sight did give Loki an idea. A very good one, he might even say. But definitely worth a try:

“Sweet spring?”

“..You sound hopeful. Or mischievous?”

“Curious, actually. Dear, pray tell, how did you attack the wraith exactly?”

“W-with light? I don't know what you're aiming for.”

“Liiight. Right. Just not quite. Think. How did you utilise you inherent light.”

“You mean my magic.”

“Indeed. Mind telling me how you knew what to do?”

“I don't... I just did what felt right. Wraiths are dark creatures, so I thought light might hurt it.”

“What wraiths are doesn't matter. Light is always a great weapon. But did that intuition come from anywhere in particular?”

Thranduil shrugged in helpless confusion. This side of Loki was uncomfortable as it questioned him without sympathy. But then Loki's felt his discomfort and was instantly pained by guilt weighing down heavily on his consciousness. He had to comfort Thranduil again. It was a must. And he obeyed:

“I'm sorry. I just thought you might have seen it. You foresaw the future before and I have seen a warrior shooting beams of light in Lady Galadriel's water mirror. I was uncertain of his identity then, but now you use the same technique. Just in a weaker form. Maybe you could train, if you'd like? I could teach you more... We have talked about it several times, but never really gone through with it. Not sufficiently at least.”

“Okay, but is now really such a good time for that?”

“You might like to use it where we're going.”

“True. But could I ask one last question beforehand?”

“Of course, you can do everything you want to do.”

Thranduil briefly hesitated, because that did not sound ironic or humorous, but sincere, which made it only creepier, but then asked what had bugged him for a moment there:

“What did you mean by saying that light is always a weapon? Against the dark, sure, but always?”

“Certainly. Creatures of the light can by fought with it, too. Concentrate it and condense it, channel it through the very tip of your sword as a ray no thicker than a finger and you can blind any creature of the light, no thicker than a single hair and you can cut through flesh and steel, even at a distance. Or don't use your sword at all.”

“...Without a conductor, wouldn't an attack be weaker?”

“You don't have to physically attack someone to fight and win. I am a master of illusions, despite the darkness inside of me. You have a predisposition for it. Illusion is an image without matter to match it. It's mirage. Magically manipulated light. You could become better than myself.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“I have millennia of training. Any my greatest strength is still my shape-shifting. You can certainly try. Best right away, go on!”

“What? How?”

“First you feel the light. Go on, I know you've done it before. You've used light. But now I want you to consciously feel the light on you rather than in you. All the light than touches you, clothing included. Just test the outer barrier of your body, the vessel of magic rather than the physical flesh, and feel where the light hits. Feel that line where it parts into what is reflected and what is absorbed. Feel that break.”

And that last part actually helped. Light was energy, just like magic. It felt similar, too. And as he drifted into his sense for magic, he could feel that line. He felt the air was an ocean and light its waves. He felt the surf, where the waves broke. Some of the 'water' was swept over the rocks and onto the shore, but most was thrown back in turbulences in the deep. He felt that break around himself. He felt it all around himself, too. On every tree, the ground, all matter. He looked up to the clouds and they were like strainers...

He felt the light. Loki knew it. He saw it in Thranduil's face. It was so open from awe. He had hoped for quick results. Because the spiders might have passed them in ignorance, but he felt a specific kind of foul magic pricking at his senses. That which ran through the stinking blood of orcs. And they were approaching.

“Good. You feel it now. Beyond the usual abilities of your eyes.”

“I do..”

“Then move it. Take your magic like a pair of gloves and use it to move the light. First try the light composing the image of yourself. And don't even attempt to keep it intact on the first try, just pull it in. Into yourself. Draw the light on you in you and hide it under your surface.”

That was easier said than done. Ever more light came flooding in to replace it. But he put his mind to it and consumed the light. He broke the breakers and stopped the light from jumping away again. He negated the reflection and absorbed all, letting the entirety of the light hitting him in where other eyes would not see it anymore. And when he felt like it might perhaps be working, he looked up to find Loki beaming with pride. The mage manipulated the light before them and drew a temporary mirror to let his lover see himself.

Or rather the lack of himself. There was a shape like his own, but its entire surface was black as the night. He seemed darker than a wraith. It shocked him so he lost his concentration and all went back to normal again. This had been the aim of the task? Loki looked like he had done well. But he didn't really see the success. He said so, too. But Loki just shrugged and told him to go meet an orc with the spell in place.

Thranduil was uncertain, but decided to try. Surely Loki knew what he was saying. So he went dark and followed the light noise to a nearby gathering of orcs. The moment they saw the lack of him, they jumped up and gripped their arms, but none attacked. They were dumbfounded, until one asked:

“Mylord?”

He would have been insulted by the comparison, but he was laughing too hard. The orcs thought him their leader? They didn't know him for the enemy he was but thought to expect his commands? It was so ironic it was hilarious. And his laughter didn't cause any less hilarious reactions in them, either. They were uncomfortable, but that was normal for them when faced with creatures higher-ranked and even darker than themselves. Thranduil needed a good long while just to get his bearings back. They thought him their leader, really? Well, it was magic of Loki's. A trick ideal for infiltration.

And thinking of Loki's magic and his, he had another idea. He raised his sword, as black as himself, and touched the light inside. A more concentrated ray, he'd said? Thranduil squeezed the mental tunnel for his magic as narrow as a finger and aimed it for the first orc's eyes. He let it out for but a moment before closing the gate again, but still the orc screeched and whip a hand over its eyes to protect them. It was used to the dark, making its catlike eyes extremely sensitive. And thus it hurt all the more when all its visual cells were fried to soot in a second flat.

The others were immobile with shock from the unprecedented attack, so it was easy to blast them with light, too. He singed their hides and fried their eyes as they scrambled to flee or fight. But they were a mess. Cutting off their uncoordinated heads was almost a mercy then. And he could finally let go of the magic keeping him dark. He didn't like the thought. But it was an important step in his training. Because it had demonstrated a great control over his light. Even in the heat of a battle. Well, skirmish. Still he had kept it in place despite having to divide his attention.

Now he ready for the next step. Under Loki's instruction, he felt the light surface of a tree and then broke it, turning another object dark. And once he had proven to know the outlines of the tree, Loki deemed him fit for the first milestone. As he had copied Frey's veiling spell, he now had to copy the image of the tree. He turned around away from the original and took his light. He held some in the air, keeping it in place, and then he kneaded it into shape and shade.

The colour thing was really complicated as he had never tried to dye light before, but he just concentrated on recreating exactly what he remembered from the image of the tree. He could barely imagine how excruciatingly difficult free style painting light had to be. But recreating something he already knew was actually okay. He just had to fit the present into a memory. Or rather lay a memory over the present. Like a template.

When he opened his eyes, there was the same tree before him as was behind him. The only problem was that it didn't fit into the surroundings. It stood at the wrong angle to each and every light source and reflective surface around it. It was an exact copy. And thus didn't match its different position. Loki chuckled that that was why illusionists learned their craft for so long and darkness was so much easier to handle, but he could also give Thranduil another tool before they had to continue their journey.

Something not light and not darkness. Not white and not black, but grey. Except when Loki used it, because he preferred to dye it green. The fog. Fog hid and it blinded. It was a trick of light from a mage if he wanted. And Loki warned him, a clever enemy felt the difference between real fog and its magical counterpart, which was not wet, and could assume the presence of a mage from it if he didn't know already. But a dumb enemy, like any ordinary orc, could easily be fooled. But even if an enemy knew the fog he was wading through for an illusion, that didn't help his eyes to look through the obstruction of light.

Thus equipped with fancy new tricks they proceeded south. And the woods grew darker as they went. But nothing compared to what they found on the Hill of Sorcery:

Orcish screeches and the howls of wargs echoed far into the forest. So plenty were their masses. The couple dared not move inside, even under spells of darkness. The beasts were just too many to count. Not just more than they could ever have expected. The orcs looked to be even more than have been here just before the battle of five armies to Loki. They were definitely an army. And a massive one at that. But there were no more wraiths to be seen or felt. And that was something at least.

Or so Loki thought. Thranduil's mind was not the same. It was clogged with cold dread and plain sorrow. They saw only a fraction of the ruin and its inhabitants, but if there were as many in all parts, the number of orcs was more than thrice as high as that of his own people. And it was still and quickly growing, more arriving as they watched. This army could smite the forces of the Woodland Realm. Without allies, his kingdom would be lost.

 

-

 

He needed something. Reassurance? He wouldn't believe it. Hope? None had any to give. Just some closeness maybe? He knew that Loki was not completely comfortable with him again, yet. But they were heading for their doom. Time-wise. Place-wise they were heading back home, lest one among all those masses noticed them. With sight or with scent. But even in dragon shape, Loki might not have lived through such a fight, so to retreat while they still could had seemed best. And they needed to send messengers. They had a lot to do. All they could, really.

They would find no peace when they got back. This was war and it didn't look good for them. In fact it looked like they were all going to die. They probably had a few months at most. Loki considered that with resignation. Thranduil with misery. His son was still out there and his people... He couldn't protect them. He couldn't count how many would die even if by some miracle they won. But he didn't see that, either. They were lost. And he would fight, but with the courage of despair, nothing more.

Maybe he should do some nice things before his time was up. Maybe he should advise them all to just party like there was no tomorrow. Maybe they shouldn't fight, but just forget. He wouldn't, he knew, but he wanted to. He knew his cheeks were getting wetter as he lost himself ever deeper in thoughts of his people dying. That was fitting, for he felt like he was drowning. But Loki could not bear that feeling of his husband's misery. He had to do something about it. He had to give him a chance to forget just for a moment.

So he halted and covered the foulness around them in snow. Pure white snow to hide the decay. And when Thranduil turned around to him in question, his tears freezing into crystals in his face, Loki just pulled him in. He didn't feel up to it, but he didn't mind it, either, and he knew that Thranduil needed something. Anything not to feel like he was really already dead. To say that Thranduil was shocked would be an understatement. Last he knew Loki barely tolerated his presence. But now he held him close and he kissed him like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

Thranduil had no idea what kind of mood swing of Loki's this was, but he latched onto it like a lifeline. Who knew? This could the last time in their lives that they got to do this. One last spark of life. His tears did not cease as he thought of that, but suddenly Thranduil was desperate to chase that bit of living. He pushed his love down into the soft snow and futilely jerked at his clothing. But Loki indulged him. In everything. He willed away their clothes and let his love take everything he needed.

 

-

 

The worried over son was somewhere else entirely, but worrying, too. As he wandered among the looming trees of Fangorn, he thought of home and wondered with a bad feeling churning in his guts whether Loki had made it home, what might have been wrong with him and whether he would return with help.

But his thoughts also drifted back to Eomer's warning about strange occurrences in the Riddermark. For the marauding men, orcs and the white wizard had been added to. Now, the Rohir had said, there was also a pair of strange wargs, not as tall as their known kin, but with huge mouths and such insatiable hunger that their devoured along entire horses along with their riders and never even sat down to rest, as if all flesh turned to ashes in their maws.

They were voracity incarnate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, the Thrandy/Loki here is consensual. Despite the influence of Rhîwya in Loki's decision making he is not against it. And yep, Geri and Freki are already in Rohan. But then, so is their follower...


	4. Armies under the Trees

Riders took the news to Dale and Erebor, which sent them on to the Iron Hills. The threat was real. And it was right there, barely a few days of way to the South, still within the forest. And even though they barely had contact anymore, Thranduil also sent riders for Lorien, to warn Galadriel of the enemy army that was even closer to them.

It was likely meant for both, too. It was just so big. The thought alone loomed over their heads like the magical canopy of clouds spreading darkness across Mordor. It was terrifying. And by now Thranduil was sincerely sick of being terrified. He hated it. He had so much to worry about! His son's life, mental and physical health and freedom and their relationship, the same again for Loki and formerly their unborn child and all the entirety of his people. He was tired!

And Loki seemed to feel it. He didn't know how exactly, something was strange about the way in which Loki had taken to perceiving his mood and general state of mind. But Loki knew his misery and anger like it was written on his forehead. And for some reason Loki was constantly trying to change that and make him feel better. Now he didn't want to be ungrateful and he didn't consider Loki to have been selfish before, but after everything that had happened, he had every right to be much worse off.

After all, Loki was the one who had felt the life inside that was now gone. Thranduil had never had such a connection to their child. The loss must have hit him so much harder. Admittedly, Thranduil had also almost lost his beloved spouse, while Loki was not bothered by his own near-death at all. But still he used to value his alone-time much more than this. Now he was constantly there for Thranduil. And it felt great to him, but... It was not quite Loki. Then again, the Elvenking reasoned, it might serve Loki as a distraction from his own pain to mend his spouse's.

And Thranduil _was_ grateful. Whenever he lost sight of Loki, it instantly shot a current of anxiety through his entire neural system. So to have him constantly at his side was a much needed reassurance. Every little touch was balm for his chafed and raw heart. And it was a relief to let go of some of the pent up tension. The was no passion in it and no art, but Loki's cold kisses just felt good on some strange melancholy level. He didn't even understand it properly. They were just stolen moments of serenity between one heavy duty weighing on him and the next.

But in the end it didn't really matter. Even doing everything he could he already knew that it would not be enough. And Loki perceived that, too.

“I could get help.”

“We have already contacted all possible help.”

“Here on this world, yes. But that is a fraction of the help we can get.”

“No. It is all. Everywhere else lies behind yet another enemy that we can not afford to awaken against us.”

“My spring, we were attacked by a wraith! In our own home. And we know of at least nine more, some of the enemies worst forces, and he himself is more spirit than living, too! My daughter can help us.”

“And even just trying to ask for her help can kill you! Or worse! What if you are caught on the way, Loki?! What if Odin gets a hold of you?!”

In that moment, Loki was shocked by the effect Thranduil's disagreement had on him. But this was also for him and those that he cared about, so with all his strength Loki pushed against the torrent in his mind. Yes, part of him agreed with Thranduil. He was torn. But the desperate side of him won, by a margin:

“He doesn't even know that I am free. He won't expect me and I have perfected obscuring myself from Aesir long ago! If you want your people to survive, you must let me go and get help.”

“I do want that, but...”

“You are king, Thranduil. You must put our people first.”

“I don't want to.”

“I know. But I promise you that I will come back. I will be at my most careful and I swear to abort the journey if the risk grows too great. Okay? I'll be fine, I swear.”

“Loki...”

“Tell me we don't need it, tell me you honestly believe that we will survive this without any means to fight the wraiths and I will stay right beside you.”

“I can't. I can't even sincerely hope anymore. But you _will_ come back to me!”

“I swear it, love.”

 

-

 

To say that the rider from the Woodland Realm was not entirely unexpected might have been a lie, had she pretended so. But Galadriel did not foresee this, either. She had hoped that Thranduil would still inform her of news that concerned them both, but now that he was under the influence of Loki...

She had spent many hours over her mirror. And she had seen so many things. Most visions just kept repeating. And they were not the good ones. But then again, there were no good ones. But at least she sometimes managed, on rare occasions, to glimpse at something that she had not seen before. Once she saw a blue dragon ripping at Orthanc. Once she saw a rider casting lighting as he crossed a wide meadow. Once she saw two little somewhat elven girls turn into lionesses before breaking into a frenzied fight. Once he saw a woman in room of bright white:

_Her dress was golden. As was her hair. And her face was grim determination, fear and a spark of hope. Her gown was long was rich with embroidery and metal aspects. But she was kneeling on the ground of that white room, two walls were which were see-through. And beyond it there was a dark stone hallway, beyond which there were even more such rooms, holding bawling men and other creatures. But most striking about the strange white room was that which was not of its colour. Lines of the floor, painted in red._

_The woman drew those lines. With_ , as it appeared, _her very own blood._

Nothing Galadriel saw in her mirror as she pondered Loki left a positive impression. It was all just pain and violence. And she dearly hoped that most of it was only possible future. Maybe what happened if Frodo's mission failed. It just all felt so terribly real. Imminent. But what scared her the most of it all was a single moment she had caught of Loki staring into a palantir alight with the fiery, lidless eye of Sauron and saying just one word:

“ _Deal.”_

When the troops of Lorien readied themselves for war, their Lady was not yet certain whom they would fight in the end. If Loki was corrupted, what would Thranduil do? Give him up and fight his own beloved? Or protect him. Would they battle the orcs together or would the armies under the trees be led against each other?

 

-

  
Returning to Asgard was strange feeling. But Loki could not with all the will in the world decide whether it was rather a positive feeling or rather a negative one. He had taken his falcon shape to cross the portal in order to be inconspicuous, just to better be safe than sorry, and it turned out to have been a really good idea. Because on the other side, there were soldiers of Odin scouting sea and skies. And that was not calming at all.

He should get rid of them. He really should. They were not yet anywhere close to the portal, but they had all the time in the world and someday they were bound to find it. Even now he could be glad that no-one of Odin's had any positive bond to Hrimfaxi and Skinfaxi, because while the Aesir thought too little of anyone who wasn't them Loki was sure that the horses remembered the pathway. They were magical creatures, not just animals.

But also not his problem right now. That would be the soldiers. And while he craved to stop them somehow, he had to admit that that would only attract their attention right now and just right now he couldn't afford to draw their attention. So he flew lower, just above the surface of the water and changed shape to dive. It would be hard to get over the edge like this, but their vision was poor underwater while the sky gave them an open view.

Underwater he approached the rim of the uneven world, but he remained cautious. They were looking for the portal underneath and there had been traps at the rim for his last visit. So he extended his magic in advance of himself and, indeed, found spells in place there. Alarms. Going by the feeling, nothing of noteworthy magic could pass the rim without setting them off. So he turned around. There was another way and he might not like it, but it was safe from Odin's men. Only a shape-shifter could use it.

Turning his lungs inside out to become a fish was not comfortable in the least, but an otter could not be without air for long enough, so a salmon it was. And as such he followed the current. Even when it took him deeper. And deeper. And ever deeper into absolute darkness. But he did not need to see. There were various fish here, chasing the current of water through the core of Asgard until they reached the other side. That was the water cycle of the malformed planet. And even though Loki had to be grateful that he was not claustrophobic, light came again.

On the other side, finally at the air again, he could take the shape of an otter once more and creep his way through the wildlife until he found the portal he was looking for. Briefly he considered which way to take first. He did have at least three valuable allies in Yggdrasil:

Jotunheim was his. Byleist and Farbauti would never betray him. They were family. That and they owed him. If he told them that his home was in danger, they could send him elite mages, entire armies or even the casket of ancient winters for support. How Niflheim would act if he asked was a different question. He and Skadi had never really gotten along, but the way she had acted at the wedding... Maybe the reveal of his true species had changed things. Maybe even she would help him if he asked. Even if the answer was no, though, she as a Jotunn would never sell another Jotunn, him, out to an Áss, least of all Odin. Not after what he had done to their kind.

Loki was also fairly certain that Frey's rebel Ljosalfar would help him if he asked. Certainly if he offered them refuge in his kingdom in return. An entire kingdom ruled by an elf. And just maybe, his old acquaintances among the covens of Vanaheim would jump at his call, too. If it meant getting the chance to explore a new world. Fandral had given him his word. And Freya had helped him before. Even if she would nor risk her people by siding with him before Odin. She could still send help in secret. _If_ he asked. Trying to meet a royal officially allied with Asgard in secret might be risky, though...

In any case, however, he could still rely on Hel. So she should be his first objective. He was just a little bit scared to go to her. Because going to her also meant meeting his hatched dragon children for the first time. And seeing his killed unborn. Oh, his children...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to put his trip to Helheim here, too, but it got longer than anticipated and I didn't want to cut it. And it fit the next chapter more anyway, contentwise.
> 
> \+ What do you think/feel about Rhîwya starting to take effect?


	5. Faraway Child(ren)

The air was just as welcoming as ever, ripe with the stink of decay. And equally as friendly was Garm, barking and snarling and howling in 'greeting'. But it did have the effect of alerting the beast's masters. He could see the shape of a dragon rising in the distance. Nidhogg had to be very far away, though...

And then four more dragon shapes rose against the sunlight and he understood why the death dragon had appeared so small, which he had originally attributed to the distance between them. But it was not so. Nidhogg lifted himself into the sky only several moments later. The shape originally mistaken for his actually belonged to another. But Loki did not know his name. None of theirs. And still he knew whom he saw there. Approaching from above in warning and demanding respect were his own children.

They had grown a lot since hatching. An adjustment to their dangerous habitat perhaps or a natural trait of the winged predators. But that was irrelevant. And the consideration did not suffice to distract him, either. How was he supposed to act around them? Would they even know who he was to them? What if they didn't? Should he tell them? If so, how? Or might it be better if they remained ignorant? It would probably be easier. But he wouldn't be able to keep the secret forever and what would they think of him then, if they found out what he had kept from them?

He was torn. This was not something he had anticipated. Mostly because he had been decidedly _not_ thinking about meeting them, dreading what it would mean for him too much. He knew that it was cowardish in a way, but he would rather fight for his life right then. He feared their faces if they were disappointed by him. To this day some of the worst pains in his life were the tearful resignation of Sleipnir when he acknowledged that he could not live with his father, the tortured rage of Fenrir fighting his chain while he tried to explain that this was the only way Odin would let him live and the nothing of the flat surface of the sea that Jormungandr had been cast into, never to be seen again.

What would these children think of him now? He had not found his best course of action yet and they were already so close. But then, perhaps luckily, the decision was taken from him. The first to have risen soared down directly at him at a break-neck speed, his lungs filling, and fanned out his wings to halt the free fall only at the very last moment before a harsh landing, to gush frost over him from almost right above. Loki disintegrated the ice his nature enabled him to control with such ease, but he knew the attack for what it was. And when the other four made to follow their leader's example, he was prepared.

He changed as they approached, growing out faster now that he had done so often enough before, hissing at their nearing while his hair fused to horns and scales perked from his hide. The leader, who had already landed, instantly caught all the changes in his wide eyes and wisely stepped back to reassess his opponent. And when more frost and even fire rained down, Loki answered in kind, blowing a cold wind over Garm's head that had them swerve to avoid it and land behind their ebony commander in presumed safety.

There they paused as he thought it through and finally Loki was as he had made them, a sizeable sapphire dragon with ruby eyes and lungs full of blizzards waiting to break out. The much younger, significantly smaller dragons before him took that as a reason to wait for Nidhogg to arrive at least. They had heard of only ever one creature capable of shape-shifting in and out of dragon form. Their illustrious true mother. Not that anyone actually called their father's killer so...

Hel liked the thought of being their mother and referred to her quasi rival for the role as their bearer if asked directly, otherwise just by 'my father'. Nidhogg did whatever Hel wished for him to do and Smaug called the same individual his personal tempter or bane, who had seduced him, creating them, and killed him right after. He did not paint a nice image of their other parent, but then their image of him was not too nice, either. They rather liked him, but he was still a potential rival for food and territory, which they fortunately had aplenty, and partners.

And in the World of the Dead, where only a handful of dragons remained, they did not have many of those. Now Smaug might be infertile by death, but not impotent, and since dragons had the inherent magic to protect their young from the consequences of incest, they also had no such inhibitions as the less magical folks whose inbred children would be sickened, deformed or maddened had them. Thus their only protection was their collective fighting force. Against Smaug and Nidhogg both. And now Loki?

Dragons were natural hedonists and while Smaug's lust was trumped by his greed, Nidhogg had no greater vice to balance his. He was alive and virile. And if he caught the scent of heat, those urges were bound to surface. Despite his sentiments for Hel. Myrkdyr was so glad that they did not have that problem yet. Because as irked whenever they called him and his siblings 'kids' as they were, the five children of Loki and Smaug were not yet physically matured and thus had no heats to date. About what would happen when they came, he was not yet sure.

The stranger could help guard them from the other dragons as he was not truly a dragon himself and therefore not as easily tempted as them. Or the stranger could decide to breed even more than he already had, but unwilling to bear again decide to impregnate them. Myrkdyr wouldn't know. He had never met his bearer before and thus couldn't guess his choices. All he knew for sure was that he would guard his siblings and self against anyone seeking to use them. He was young, but fierce. And he was ready to fight.

But he was no warmongering idiot, so he waited patiently for Nidhogg to arrive and greet their guest, before introducing the 'kids'. And that had Loki's guardedness softening and he seemed as though he thought to speak, but didn't. Nidhogg hesitated to act, too. But Myrkdyr didn't:

“And we know who you are. But not what you want here. Checking in on us? Staying? Taking us away? What is your game, bearer?”

He only just managed to suppress a pained wince at his child's tone and wording. What had he expected? He was not meant for kids.

“What would you wish for me to do?”

“We require nothing of you.”

Nidhogg was clearly embarrassed and made to excuse the harsh treatment, but Loki knew that he deserved it and his cursed children deserved no rebuke for reacting to him in this way. So he opted for professionalism and merely informed all present that he had urgent business with the queen. It had Myrkdyr narrowing his eyes, but Nidhogg nodded and reminded Garm once more that Loki had free passage.

Together, or rather at the same time as there was not much togetherness among them, they returned to Hel's tower. And there the next shock awaited. At the root of the tower, curled around it on the ground, was a massive amber dragon in a terrible state. He looked a lot like a corpse, likely because he was. But more shockingly: He looked like Smaug. And then Gullormr floated downwards to snuggle up to the dead dragon and as he raised his head in greeting, eyes catching his former lover, Loki knew that it was Smaug for sure.

That could certainly explain why they hated him. Smaug did and he was there for them, while Loki wasn't. He was a terrible parent. Poor Thranduil, what had he gotten himself and his future children into? Loki had to make amends for that. But he wasn't there. He had left his husband's side. He was a terrible spouse, too. He had so much to make up for. He should tend to his husband most ardently as soon as he got back. He owed his husband. He owed him everything...

But then Nidhogg interrupted his inner downward spiral by hushedly commenting that Smaug was a part of their life, but couldn't control them. And he was beyond grateful for that. Proud even, as Myrkdyr snorted:

“Of course he can't control us. He is cattish, lonely and dead because of it. A failed tyrant. We are a union of ice and fire. And we spread dread among the dead.”

“That's good. Very good. He cares only for himself. It would be terribly inadvisable to trust him.”

“We know that. We do not need your advice.”

“But you might find it useful, though.”

“No need, we are cunning autodidacts. Like all proper dragons, superprecocial as we are.”

“Except that you are half Hrimthurs, too. And all Jotnar are altricial.”

“Clearly we don't take after them then.”

“Unfortunately.”

“I perceive our early maturity and quick growth as beneficial. Would you rather have us helpless?”

“No, I was actually referring to another aspect of the Hrimthurs. Unless you are do possess their weaponised frostbite?”

“...Frostbite? I breathe frost.”

“So do I. But I am no – as you called it – proper dragon and have carried my Hrimthurs abilities to use frostbite as a weapon into my dragon shape. I wondered whether you had inherited it. Weren't you aware? Hrimthurs can cool their skin so much that any other lifeform to touch them suffers the pain and injury of frostbite. It's a nice and useful trick to use when someone holds you down and you can't reach him with your visible weapons.”

Now Myrkdyr was visibly thinking and Loki got a bit daring:

“Not that you need my advice, but just out of sheer fun you could try concentrating your inherent cold on your surface rather than your breath. Covering oneself in ice can add to the armour, too. Or spread even more dread, when all scales are covered in icicles like a thousand more horns. Just saying.”

Myrkdyr did not comment, all his attention turned inwards, and then they had reached their destination.

  
  


“Father!”

and instantly Loki had a faceful of Hel clinging to him,

“I was so worried. My messenger was so disturbed. Ruined. He couldn't even say what happened and there were traces of repelling magic all over him.”

“Your messenger?”

“Yes, I sent a spirit to warn you. Odin's servants have found a way to your world. And they won't chat when they find you. But what are you doing here anyway?”

“A spirit? You mean a dead... Oh, that was you. I'm sorry. We saw a wraith and thought the worst so we banished it. Forgive me, I didn't know that it was from you. You see, we have a serious problem with wraiths up there. Our greatest enemy is a necromancer. It's... we have to talk.”

And so he told her all about the One Ring and its Master and about his nine most hideous servants. Her eyes darkened as he did so.

“He steals from me. No-one steals from me. This is where everything goes in the end. No return. I alone allow exceptions. No-one else. I will have cells fashioned for those nine to reject any magic trying to pull them back out. It shouldn't take long. The people here are always eager to avoid getting eaten, they'll please me. And while I can't lend you soldiers and I know you won't ask for your children to be endangered, I think I can help. There are quite some things Odin never took to his armoury and this realm has one of these things, that should help with your quest.”

And when she returned, Loki could feel death sizzling through the rusty metal she brought. That thing she handed him looked like a lariat, but made of thick, barbed wire and brimming with magic. The magic of Helheim, as destructive as Nidhogg's breath, but controlled by the will to send souls to the Gate of the Dead. This could revoke the Necromancer's summoning and then the wayward spirits could be incarcerated into an enchantment to defy the powers of the Ring and bind them in the material world of the dead. So they would never return.

This could help him greatly and so would Hel's report on the going-ons between the portals. But it also urged him to return home. Everything did that. But he was not done with Yggdrasil just yet. He had more to do. But for that he also had to tear himself away from his daughter once more. She saw in his eyes how that pained him:

“It's alright. I understand. Don't worry about me down here. Any of us. The dragons got along pretty well with everything from day one and I... I have Daudr. I will always be a mother now. And that's no curse to me. I am happy, if not for my concern for you. You must really heed my warning, father. Many more Aesir come here now than I am used to. I was curious about their sudden increase in mortality and asked their reasons, you know. Odin is quelling all rumours and doubts. He won't be questioned. And his eye is set on Jotunheim.”

“Should my brothers worry then?”

“They already do. Only the casket guards them now. If not for its power, Odin would attack and this time, he might just wipe them out entirely. He fears your rise to power more than you can imagine. I dare say he is mad with it.”

“...I had actually hoped to be able to use the casket in this war for my world.”

“And it would certainly help you. But they...”

“They need it to survive.”

“Yes.”

“Under these circumstances I fear that all my potential allies will need what I might ask themselves. Except... I might know something I could ask that won't condemn who I would ask for it. I should go there right away. My dear, I-”

“I said it, father, I know. I see war coming. Terrible war. And not just on your new world. The Ash is ripe for it, too.”

And what a war that would be. Some wars concerned nations, some entire worlds, but this span across several of them at the same time. This war that was coming for the Ash was Ragnarok. And Loki could only hope that the Ring War would be over before it began. But these no hopeful times. And now, too, he stood there with a great weapon, already stored into his magical pocket, and feeling worse than he had before coming. But with determination in motivation's stead he turned away. He couldn't leave his husband alone for much longer.

One good thing was given to him, though. As he was leaving, he glanced over to the dragonlings and saw them giving off fog and smoke where their surface temperatures collided with their surroundings. Hyrrandlat's entire body was glowing and the ground scorched around his feet, while his tail cut through the earth like a red hot wire through butter. They were Jotunn after all. He spotted Myrkdyr and found the usually sleek black dragon with a frozen crown, all his body spiked with ice.

And the distrust and aversion in his gaze had changed just like his appearance. The royal youth held acknowledgement in them now. And a whit of respect such as no Nidhogg, Smaug or other creature had brought forth in him.

 

-

 

On another world, another son doubted a royal. Legolas remembered the look in Eomer's face when he had warned them about the strange wargs. And it just felt wrong when Rohan's king laughed about. Not entirely without reason, admittedly, as he told them that the wargs had been seen running away howling and mewling from a horse's hoofed legs. But it still felt wrong. And the reason was a bit doubtful, too. A horse chase a warg?

No ordinary horse, the king knew to remark. After the loss of Shadowfax to the wizard, he tod them, they had tried to catch the fierce grey stallion or mare that scared wargs, but the creature had run faster than any other horse they had ever known about. Faster than winds and fowls. That actually had Legolas wondering, thinking he might have heard of such a beast before. It had him thinking about Loki. Then again, he thought of Loki often and most proud riders told tales about their unbelievable fast and enduring steeds.

He thought of Loki again now. Of him and his father. It remained in the back of his mind through every single moment until it returned to the forefront of it, urged there by one image: Ravens. Two ravens flew for Edoras, one a little awkwardly, the other determined and sure. And who used ravens for communication? The dwarves of Erebor, his father's neighbours and allies, Loki's closest friends. He waved and the clever birds instantly set course directly for him.

But his location was frequented by humans and they had poor eyes. He didn't want the ravens mistaken for crows, so he ran out ahead of the mobilising population. There the ravens reached him and landed on a rock closely. One was beautifully black and elegant, the other dusty with bent feathers and droopy eyes. One young and one old, the elf interpreted. But it hardly mattered. There was finally a way of contact back to Loki, who must have reached home alright, or there wouldn't be messengers. The three kingdoms that had banded together against the orcs must have reunited.

He was glad, for this war concerned all the three races. But apparently, the ravens bore no message, as they just stared at him expectedly. Their presence alone was the message, he guessed. Saying:

'I made it and I have the help I went back for. But where are you now? Where do I send this help?'

Well, Legolas understood. And he expected the shape-shifter to be able to hear the ravens out when they returned to him, even if Legolas couldn't have understood their croaking, had they tried to verbalise a message for him. So he started, telling him that their halfling friends were safe, the wizard was alive and with them and that they were in Edoras, but moving to Helm's Deep through the mountains now. He admitted that help from the Woodland Realm or even Erebor might not reach them anymore and he would have to shift into a dragon. An attack was near.

Meanwhile Hugin and Munin laughed inside. Such news for their master, such news for the wolves.

But their laughter was cut short. Legolas jumped back with a gasp at the sudden appearance and the ravens tried to lift themselves out of reach in a panic, when unexpectedly a huge grey horse attacked, four stone hard hooves swinging through the air to flatten them both. The presumably younger one managed by a hair's breadth. But the dusty one did not. He was hit by a hoof like a hammer against the rock he'd sat upon like an anvil. And the elf was shocked more.

The raven was not crushed and dead. There was a puff and nothing left but black smoke and a few crumbling feathers. That was no raven. It was magic. And none from Erebor for sure. He looked up to the horse that had destroyed it and only now noticed that it had eight legs. And thus he remembered. Tauriel had told him of this. Loki's son in Odin's service. Odin's service! Two ravens she had mentioned, too! Oh, why had he not thought of this?! Because ravens were good creatures in his mind, unlike crows. But these were crows in character.

Well, this one now. The other was gone. Good. But the survivor had heard too much. And it would report to Odin, whom Loki had warned them of in Rivendell. Which must be why his son had evidently broken out of Odin's service. And now saved Legolas from telling an enemy everything he knew. He thanked the fierce steed, the fierce son of his queen and sent him to Mirkwood with all the information Loki would need.

Sleipnir nodded with the intelligence of a true Lokison and rushed away, faster than winds and fowls.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Odin has now lost his already sickened Hugin entirely. I hope you know what that means...


End file.
